Unwanted Attentions
by AngelRays95
Summary: When Sam rejects the advances of a rather volatile patient, she has no idea that his attentions will spiral into a terrifying obsession. What will she do when her life is threatened? And can Dylan get to her in time to save her?
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place after the GMC hearing, where Sam becomes increasingly uneasy with one of her patients and the consequences of that. Enjoy! X**

Unwanted Attentions – Part 1

Her reflection was cold and harsh where the artificial light cast its glare across her face, every flaw and imperfection magnified tenfold. Olive eyes scanned the damage the nightmare had done to her appearance, noting with a critical eye that her bottom lip was bleeding where her teeth had worried away the surface flesh. It had been worse than the others, though she was unable to recall what exactly had made it so terrifying compared with the rest. All she could dredge up from the hazy mess that was her dreams was the fear. It felt palpable to her even now, pressing against her chest and crushing the still frantically beating heart inside.

She glanced again at the exhausted, ashen face before her, the reddening patch of skin beneath each eye, and finally the hard pupils staring out at her, full of bitterness and regret. It had been a long time since she had looked in the mirror and actually felt pleased with what she had seen, but then again, what did she expect when she still hated herself completely? This was nothing but the reflection of a guilty woman, finally paying the price for her mistake.

Shuffling across to the shower, every muscle aching from having slept in awkward positions on both her bed and then, after some hours, the floor, she pulled off her strappy top and shorts and stepped inside. The steam enveloped her almost immediately, the initial drizzle of tepid water suddenly hammering her back in a soothing rhythm. Sam rolled her shoulders as her bones creaked beneath the comforting heat, feeling the heavy exhaustion diminish to a milder tiredness. Her eyes began to sting from the shampoo, and she blinked furiously before exiting the shower and grabbing a fresh towel from the rack.

The morning had begun, she thought to herself, and now all she had to look forward to was snatched glances at her husband before returning home to an empty flat. It was a lonely existence for someone so young, but she didn't linger on that particular notion, knowing she was already sinking to rock bottom without the aid of depressing thoughts dragging her down any further.

…

Her morning jog had done nothing to appease the crippling fear of last night's dream, but as unnerving as it had been, she was used to pushing such emotions to the back of her mind where she would confront them later. It was not the first quality life had forced her to perfect over the years – Dylan, the army and her general inability to deal with emotions had seen to that.

And on entering the ED for yet another unimaginably long shift, she quickly found there was little time to dwell on whatever her mind refused to let go. There had been a major traffic collision only fifteen minutes before she had arrived, and every doctor was needed as patient after patient entered resus. Tom had already been to the scene, reporting back that there were two other patients yet to arrive – one with a serious head wound and another with just minor cuts and bruises.

Knowing that burying herself in her work was a wise decision, Sam quickly resolved that she would deal with the more critical patient, but once both casualties were admitted, she found herself being ordered by a rather harassed Zoe to take the gentleman with the superficial wounds. It felt as though she had just been taken down a peg or two, but brushed off the burning sense of humiliation and gave a brusque nod towards Dr Hanna. Sam may not like the woman all that much, but she wasn't about to let it show. She was a professional first and foremost, and she was going to make damn sure her patient got the best possible care, if only to show Zoe that she wasn't the hothead she believed her to be.

In the end, however, a few stitches and a clean dressing were all that was needed – less engrossing than the work she should have been doing in resus. Her patient was more than grateful, though, and thanked her warmly after she had finished suturing the wound to his arm.

"You came away lightly, considering," Sam remarked, pulling off her latex gloves and tossing the soiled cotton wool in the bin.

"I don't usually believe in luck or fate, but I don't think I could have been any luckier today if I tried," he said with a relieved smile. "And I'm definitely putting us meeting down to fate," he added, blue eyes watching her expectantly to gauge her reaction.

For a moment, Sam was completely unaware that he was attempting to flirt with her, so long had it been that anyone had taken an interest in her. It wasn't as though men didn't look at her anymore, but she tended to still wear her wedding ring on the rare occasions that she went out, and it seemed to put most of them off. And if that didn't work, her general lack of patience soon put an end to any flirtations.

It was for this reason that she gave a rather startled laugh and rubbed the back of her neck, feeling extremely awkward in the rather compact cubicle.

"Well, I'm of the opinion that _decisions_ have more to do with these situations than stars aligning and God's will," she replied, trying not to focus on her own particular decision which had destroyed her marriage, and her life.

"I would have agreed with you before today, but some things just can't be explained with logic and facts. Sometimes there really is no other reason than it was just meant to be."

Sam nodded slowly, deciding it was time for her to discharge him and find another patient – preferably female.

"I'm Henry, by the way. And you?" he asked, sounding rather innocent as he watched her shift uncomfortably by the curtain.

Even though she knew it would be better to stop this now and simply ignore his question, those wide, blue eyes and ingenuous expression made her put her unease down to paranoia and lack of sleep.

"Sam. Dr Sam Nicholls."

He gave an eager nod and stretched over to shake her hand which she hesitantly accepted, now sure that it was time to end this conversation.

"Well, I think we're all done here. If you could just go to the reception desk to collect your hospital discharge letter and then you can leave."

Henry's smile faded as he realised this was goodbye, and he quickly jumped off the bed and grabbed her wrist. "When do you finish your shift?"

It was her army training which made her arm snap back, her reflexes heightened by a constant readiness for any kind of attack. Except he wasn't attacking her, and she had just sent him reeling back against the bed.

The sudden crash as he collapsed against the medical trolley resonated through the ED, drawing attention to the fact that either a patient or a member of staff was in trouble. Lenny had just exited the staffroom and he quickly rushed to pull back the curtain, surprised to find Dr Nicholls attempting to lift her patient off the floor.

"Trouble?" he asked as he helped pull the man to his feet, watching as her muscles tensed considerably under his stare.

"I was just about to discharge him…" she replied, trailing off mid-sentence as the patient lifted his head to look at her. They shared a second where they simply stared at one another, and the usually cocky, young doctor suddenly felt as though he was intruding on a private moment between them. Then Sam looked away, realising someone else was in the cubicle, and began sorting the scattered utensils into their rightful places.

Lenny had absolutely no idea what had occurred before he arrived, though he was now certain she wasn't telling him everything, but decided that any danger had been prevented and left.

Alone with Henry once more, Sam felt the need to apologise for her rash conduct, but her continued mistrust of his too eager advances made saying sorry incredibly difficult.

"Don't worry, I know it was an accident," he said quietly, shuffling across to stand behind her. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck as he leaned in closer, and every part of her brain was screaming at her to hit him. But she had only recently avoided one suspension for malpractice, and she wasn't about to put herself in the firing line again.

Ignoring the hairs on her arms standing up on end, Sam turned to face him with a steely expression and put her hands on both his shoulders, pushing him gently backwards until she had him seated on the bed. "I'll let you sit here until you recover from your fall, and then you can fill in the necessary forms at reception."

Her voice was calm and controlled, just as she knew it would be, but his unfaltering gaze fixated on her mouth sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but the longer she was in his presence, the more he got under her skin.

With that parting comment bestowed, Sam made to leave for the final time, knowing some fresh air would soothe her racing heart, but was stopped by his strong hand grabbing her wrist again. His jagged nails dug into her skin as he pulled her closer, his voice dripping with barely concealed venom.

"You pushed me, Samantha. I've just saved you from an investigation – the least you can do is say thank you," he hissed in her ear, and for the first time since she had been on tour, she felt truly at risk.

"Thank you," she said quietly, hoping he would hear some kind of sincerity in the words, even if she didn't mean them.

He drew back his hand, releasing her from his tight grip, and she quickly let out the breath she had been holding. The man was evidently unstable, or at least aggressive, and Sam made a mental note as she retreated from the cubicle to inform security to keep an eye out once he had left the building.

…

Surprisingly, the rest of Sam's shift went smoothly, despite the fifteen minutes she had needed to calm herself down after the incident with Henry. She had changed into a long sleeved t-shirt after realising the bright red, crescent marks on her wrist might look suspicious, but the ED was too busy for anyone to notice.

And now with only ten minutes to go until she was officially off duty, Sam found herself drifting towards the noisy staffroom, intending to grab her coat and bag from her locker and make the long walk to her flat. She was still obsessing over how gullible she had been, convincing herself that it was exhaustion which had made her feel so paranoid around him, when she should have trusted her instincts. Then again, she knew her judgement had been somewhat compromised in recent weeks – emotions had clouded her ability to make decisions on more than one occasion, much to the concern and annoyance of her colleagues.

"Coming for a drink, Sam?"

She turned to see Tom watching her from his seat, looking far friendlier than the previous man who had asked to take her out that evening. However, she knew a hot bath and an early night was what she required, and so politely declined his offer. Tom nodded, having expected her to say no, and made for the door just as Dylan entered, barging past the younger doctor with an exasperated grunt.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," Sam remarked, pulling on her trench coat and wincing slightly as she twisted her wrist.

Dylan's head snapped up at the comment, taking in her strained expression and wondering whether to ask or not. "Something wrong?"

She shook her head immediately before turning her face from his analytical gaze, knowing all too well how easy he could read her even with her many masks.

"Fine, be that way. I was only trying to help."

"Shut up, Dylan," she retorted, the weight of sleep hanging heavy on her shoulders as she slumped against her locker, too tired to even stand up straight anymore.

The usually oblivious doctor rubbed at his rough, unshaven chin, unsure how his wife would respond to any kind of help from him at the present moment. It was only when she finally rolled her aching neck and pulled her bag over her shoulder that he decided to leave her be. Their marriage had always been a constant battle between them after confusion and crossed wires ended in argument and torment for them both. He didn't want to misread signals again and end up being on the end of her spiteful comments, even if he would never admit such remarks hurt him at all.

But watching as she walked painfully slowly from the room without a goodbye or even a backward glance felt like a slap to the face, and he was almost tempted to go after her. His stubbornness and, if he was honest, fear of rejection were his only excuses for staying in the staffroom, and he waited until the clock finally reached 11 before making his own way home, not wanting to meet her on his way out of the building. He had had quite enough of Sam's brutal coldness to last him a lifetime.

…

The night had brought with it a chill nip to the air, bitingly cold and almost painful as it froze the bare skin of Sam's neck. She exhaled, transfixed on the cloud of breath which unfurled from her open mouth and disappeared beneath the harsh orange lamp in front of her.

Dylan's gesture of kindness and her subsequent rebuff continued to haunt her, and she already deeply regretted speaking to him so harshly, especially when it was one of the few occasions when he had actually shown her any kind of concern. She knew he wasn't good with words or feelings – after all, it was one of the few things which still linked them together – but sometimes she just wished he had said exactly what he wanted to say, or let actions speak for themselves. Perhaps their marriage wouldn't be in tatters now if they had simply allowed their emotions to decide for them. God knows how many times she had just wanted to grab him and kiss him hard, instead of standing mute while he sulked in a corner or stormed from one room to another.

Relief washed over her as she saw her flat only two doors down, and she quickly pulled her keys from her coat pocket and trudged up the concrete steps. Her mind was already growing numb and she felt her eyelids begin to close as the door swung open and she was met with her shadowy hallway. It wasn't home, but then, the army had meant her only real home was in the midst of a warzone – it was going to take her a while to adjust to living in an actual building again.

Switching on the lights, Sam blinked hard against the sudden brightness and stepped inside, pulling off her coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. An icy draft reminded her the outside world had yet to be closed off completely, but just as she placed her hand on the handle, a sudden movement shifted from the gloom of the street. She didn't have time to slam the door before the figure barged inside, a gleaming blade poised in his trembling hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for your reviews – this next update is up much a little later than expected because I have been busy revising :( Anyway, I'm intending on making this a three parter, although depending on feedback, I'm sure I could develop it further. Hope you enjoy and, as ever, please comment! X**

Unwanted Attentions – Part 2

It was strange the way she knew it was him, almost as though she had been expecting to see him again. Granted, she had never considered he would have a knife, but she couldn't say she was surprised. Even for the brief amount of time in the cubicle, his violent and unpredictable behaviour had rung alarm bells immediately. She just hadn't had the time or the energy to look into it properly. Perhaps if she had, he wouldn't be standing in her living room now, pointing a weapon at her.

Her eyes scanned his body language, taking in his steady composure compared with his slightly trembling hand. The analytical side of her brain processed this information with ease, breaking it down until she had come to at least a dozen different conclusions for his differing mannerisms. But the emotional side, which also dealt with her imagination, could not contain the idea that he was either psychotic, violent or both, and was now in possession of a potentially lethal weapon. Luckily, the army had taught her to shut down this part of her mind when placed in this kind of situation.

"Henry… I really think you should put the knife down," she said cautiously, keeping her voice as quiet and level as possible so as not to spook him. He seemed unstable enough already without her scaring him any more.

He seemed to register her voice, but his eyes refused to meet hers, almost as though he couldn't bear to look at her. Sam had no idea whether this was a good or a bad thing, but she knew that if she didn't get him to drop the knife, things were going to get much, much worse.

"You followed me home?" Though it came out as a question, Sam had meant it as a simple statement, her mind already replaying her walk from Holby ED to her flat. She hadn't seen anyone, but then she had been so lost in her own thoughts over Dylan that it was hardly a surprise she didn't notice him behind her. Thinking of her husband, Sam wondered whether she could distract Henry long enough to call him, or even text him to let him know what was happening. But from the way Henry was currently shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, Sam couldn't be certain she would have all that long before he decided to use the knife on her.

"My husband will be home from work soon." Had she meant to say that out loud? Surely that had just been a fanciful thought confined to the more naïve part of her mind. However, she had indeed said it, and now Henry had his eyes fixated on her.

"Your _husband_?" he said dejectedly, reminding Sam just how delusional this man truly was if he thought she and him had any kind of relationship at all. There was only one man in Sam's life that she would ever admit to loving, and he just happened to be the one man least likely to show her the same feelings in return. She was a sucker for punishment, always had been.

Sam nodded, trying to remain calm as her gaze continually slid to the gleaming knife. "He works a late shift at the ED, but he'll be home any minute," she replied, unsure why she had decided to lie considering Dylan wasn't going to be turning up at her flat anytime soon. "He's a rugby player," she added, now sure she was just as delusional as him. Dylan was the least hunky, muscular man she had ever met, even if he was much stronger than he seemed…

"How could you?" Henry whispered, eyes wide with shimmering tears. He looked… heartbroken.

"Dylan and I were married long before I met you, Henry. And even if we hadn't, that doesn't mean _we_ have any kind of connection. I don't know you."

At this, he seemed to visibly freeze, his shoulders stiffening and his hand gripping the knife tighter. She should never have said it so harshly, but her emotions were beginning to take over as adrenaline rushed through her. Stay calm, she thought to herself, just stay calm.

"Well, that wasn't what you were saying in the hospital. I know you're only saying this for your husband's benefit, but you don't have to pretend now, Samantha. No one's going to split us up again."

She watched as he took a step closer, her heart and mind racing but her body remaining perfectly still, and as he wrapped an arm around her, all she could do was close her eyes and pray that Dylan saved her, before it was too late.

…

Three in the morning on a ridiculously busy Friday night, and Dylan, who was supposed to be asleep, was currently treating a terrified woman in cubicles. Zoe had phoned him, apparently choked with flu though he was sceptical, to beg him to swap their shifts. It had been very reluctantly that he had agreed, but in the end, he decided even the ED was better than tossing and turning all night, imagining what it would be like to have Sam lying next to him.

"You have some noticeable bruising to your chest and arms, Lillian. Would you like to tell me what caused these injuries?" he asked, watching as the young woman turned her face from his, hiding evident tears. It was remarkable the resemblance between her and his wife, Dylan thought, even down to the refusal to let a man see her crying.

"The police have been informed already, and they will want to speak to you about what took place tonight. It would be a lot easier for everyone if you simply told me what happened." He was unsure whether he was being too blunt, having never been very good with women and their erratic emotions, but she seemed to respond to his brutally honest nature.

"I didn't see him," she whispered, eyes cast downwards so as not to meet Dylan's gaze. "One minute I was just walking home, and the next he was behind me… He pulled me round and then… he started shouting at me. I don't know why… I think he thought I was someone else, but suddenly he just…" Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where purple bruises were already blooming over her pale skin. Dylan nodded silently, frowning slightly as he took in what she was trying to say.

"He assaulted you?"

The woman nodded before stifling a sob, and Dylan quickly gestured for a kind-looking nurse to sit with her while he went to meet the police. He had no idea why it unnerved him so much, considering he had seen many incidents such as this one before, but he couldn't shake the terrified feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, almost as though he could sense something bad was going to happen.

…

He was sitting across from her now, twirling the knife sadistically in his hand, slender fingers skimming the sharp blade almost for comfort. Sam felt sick thinking how close he was to the edge, knowing he believed them to be lovers or something similar, and that he could do anything to her with such a weapon at his disposal. She didn't like to think about the injuries he could inflict on her, both mental and physical, but she had been a doctor for so long that the several rape cases she had seen were now spinning in her mind.

"Where is he then?"

She flinched slightly at his sudden question, no matter how quiet his voice was, and shrugged, unsure if her voice was strong enough to speak yet. He had held her so tightly in his arms, the knife digging into her back to remind her who was in control, but no matter how much she had tried, she could not pretend it was Dylan embracing her. Her husband may be cold and unfeeling, but he when he held her it was as though reality disappeared, and she was safe.

"I think you're lying to me. I think you don't have a husband. I think you're trying to make me jealous," he spat, digging the knife into the table and scoring the wood. She tried not to think what it would do to her skin.

"You think a lot," she muttered fiercely, feeling her blood begin to boil as she realised how frightened he was making her. She had always prided herself on being fearless, but that maddening look in his eye terrified her more than any suicide bomber or machine gun.

The knife clattered onto the floor as he took in what she had said and before she knew what was happening, his hand was around her throat and her back was against the wall. The first thing she sensed was that she couldn't breathe – his fingers were constricting her airways so badly that she could barely even gasp. She grappled with his vice grip, her leg kicking out in anger but missing the intended target. He gave a bitter laugh before bringing his face close to hers, staring at her with cold, blue eyes. He didn't look so innocent and ingenuous anymore.

"Please…" she managed to whisper, feeling herself go suddenly light-headed as her eyes rolled backwards.

He let her go hastily and she collapsed to the floor, coughing as she tried to breathe properly again. She could still feel his hand around her throat, and touching her neck, she felt the painful marks branded on her. In that moment, Sam had never hated anyone more.

…

"She's really shaken up," came the distinctive voice of the ED's very own blonde bombshell. Dylan turned to see Linda watching the young woman he had just treated with concerned eyes, before glancing up to see his response.

He nodded by way of agreement before turning back to check his mobile. No texts. No missed calls. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he continued to check every couple of hours, just in case. Tragic, he thought bitterly.

"Are you all right? You look a bit…" Linda trailed off, realising that she had just jolted him from his thoughts.

"Pardon?" he asked curtly, giving her a rather impatient look.

She shook her head, knowing not to continue any further when he was being like this. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Well, evidently it does if you have so obviously taken the time to talk to me. What do I look like?"

She wavered, unsure whether to tell him the truth. She hadn't failed to notice the pleading looks he gave his wife when her back was turned, almost like he was hoping she would leap into his arms right there and then, and nor she had been oblivious to his increasingly short-tempered nature whenever Sam wasn't around to calm him.

"You look lost," she finally replied, watching for his reaction but getting none, as usual.

Behind his stony mask, he was surprised – usually Linda rather missed the point where he was concerned, but she had hit the nail on the head this time. He was lost. Whenever Sam wasn't around, he felt as though he was just floating through life without an anchor. It was as though she made him whole, and without her near him, a very important part of him was missing.

Linda watched his lips flicker into a smile before it disappeared again, and she wondered whether it had ever been there at all. "Dr Keogh, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but if you really want to get her back, why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

It was a fair point, even if totally misguided, Dylan thought. If he had been different, more confident like Dr Lyons or Dr Kent, then perhaps he could have told Sam that he loved her, that he had never stopped, but he wasn't good with words or feelings or people in general. He never would be, and trying to turn him into that person had only made him more spiteful and frustrated than before. He could still remember when he had attempted to cook a romantic meal for them both one night, which had ended up being flung at the wall when he had inadvertently said something wrong. He couldn't even remember what the argument had been about now…

"Right, well, I'm going to go and see if she's ok. Tom'll be on in a few minutes, so why don't you go home? Get some rest and then call her in the morning?"

Dylan turned to face her, now sure she had crossed the line by advising him on his marriage. "I could be wrong, Nurse Andrews, but I hardly think you are in any position to be giving out advice on relationships, judging by your own series of one-night stands."

It took everything Linda had not to respond with some harsh remark, but she knew that he was the unhappy one out of the two of them, and that was victory enough for her. Thinking that, she turned on her heel and marched off in the direction of Dylan's patient, deciding to immerse herself in someone else's problems; someone, in her head, that deserved her attention far more than Dylan.

…

_I am not a victim. I will not let him do this to me. I will fight back. I will._

She had been saying it to herself like a mantra for over twenty minutes now, her eyes following him round the room as he paced backwards and forwards. He hadn't touched her since he had slammed her against the wall, which she was deeply relieved about. However, if she wanted to disarm him, she was going to have to get closer, a thought which filled her with dread.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam didn't want to know the answer, she didn't care about his insane reasons for keeping her locked in her own flat at knifepoint, and nor did she want to hear his excuses that he didn't want to hurt her. But if it got any kind of reaction from him then she had achieved what she wanted.

Henry seemed to slow his pace but didn't stop, the knife still gleaming in his hand. "You know why. I can't live without you."

Sam's lip curled in disgust at such a soppy, romantic gesture, knowing she would have hated it if Dylan had said anything like that. Not that she had ever been any danger of her husband being romantic, she thought wearily.

"I want you to go."

"We've been over this, Sam-"

"I want you to go," she repeated, feeling her throat closing up as tears threatened. She was tired, she had no idea what time it was anymore, and she was terrified.

Henry came towards her, knife in hand, and crouched down in front of her. "You don't want to make me angry, do you?"

The blade was unbelievably sharp, Sam noted, and it was inching every closer towards her.

"No," she whispered, trying to shuffle backwards but being halted by the wall behind her. He was going to hurt her, she knew it now, and her hands were shaking so badly that she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop him.

He leaned in close, the knife brushing against her arm as his lips came to meet hers. Sam whimpered slightly as he kissed her, knowing that to fight back would ensure a fatal injury. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted the seconds for it to be over. She felt his hand slide to her waist, and immediately flinched while her feet stayed rooted to the spot. Her mind screamed at her to stop him, to hurt him, to do whatever it took to get him off her, but the knife in his hand just reminded her how much danger that would place her in.

As he finally pulled away, she saw the blissfully happy look on his face and realised she had only one choice, even if it killed her.

…

"Dylan? Dylan, are you all right?"

It had taken him over half an hour to even find the courage to locate her name in his contacts, and now he was seriously struggling to call her. It was almost four in the morning, and he was sure even Sam would be asleep by now, and yet he was still tempted to dial her number.

"Dylan?"

His head snapped up as he finally registered the younger doctor standing over him, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you'd gone home ages ago?"

Dylan shook his head slowly before returning to his phone, his finger hovering over the call button.

Meanwhile, Tom had finally realised why Dr Keogh was acting so strangely, or at least more strangely than usual. "Why not call her in the morning?"

"I need to do it now, or I never will." It was the most feeling comment Dylan had ever made, and both men were surprised at the sudden note of desperate sadness in his tone.

Tom sat next to the older doctor, patting him on the shoulder sympathetically. "You still love her, then?"

He didn't know how to reply without completely breaking down, so Dylan simply nodded.

"Right, I'll leave you to it," Tom said quietly, having noticed Dixie rushing out of the entrance doorway and knowing instinctively that there was an emergency. It was only when he reached the door of the staffroom that he saw Jeff quickly pulling his mobile from his pocket, looking unusually worried.

"Anything I can help with?" he asked.

Jeff jogged over to meet him. "Do you have Dylan's number?"

"I can do better than that – he's in the staffroom. Why?"

Jeff looked over Tom's shoulder and rubbed his forehead. "We've just had a call out to a flat near the ED. A terrified female… It was Sam. Apparently someone was in her house… We don't know whether she's hurt or not because the line went dead."

Dylan appeared behind Tom at that moment, fully aware that Jeff had said his name, and raised an eyebrow at the paramedic questioningly.

Tom gestured for Jeff to go and that he would talk to Dylan, but on seeing him sprinting outside, the young doctor suddenly realised that he could be informing Dr Keogh that his wife was injured, possibly dead.

"They've had a call from Sam… I'm sorry, Dylan, but someone broke into her house. They don't know whether she's hurt or not…"

That was all Dylan needed to hear before he was running for the door, his heart slamming against his chest as he pulled open his car door, promising himself that he wasn't going to lose her a second time.


	3. Chapter 3

**I can't tell you how shocked I am at the lovely responses I have had to this story, and am sincerely grateful for all the comments, alerts, favourites etc. I've decided a three-parter simply wouldn't do this particular scenario justice, which is why I have decided to develop it further than I had originally intended. Goodness only knows how long it will be now, considering I have already begun planning future chapters, but hopefully you will all continue to read and review, and most importantly, enjoy! **

**Thank you again for all your support, and I very much hope you like this chapter x**

Unwanted Attentions – Part 3

Dylan had never been particularly religious – his work had mostly meant relying on science to find the answers, and sometimes even to find the cure. And he was sure that even if medicine hadn't been his chosen career path, any kind of God still wouldn't have featured in his everyday life. His mind was clinical, logical – it dealt with facts and figures rather than belief and faith. It was easier that way; easier to comprehend that you looked out for yourself and made your own choices in life. But slowing to a halt as he approached the blue flashing lights in front of him, Dylan found himself, for the first time, searching for a sign from any kind of God that she was all right. Even as he exited the car he made a silent prayer that she wasn't dead, something he hadn't truly consciously done since she had been at the heart of a warzone, and even then he had done so reluctantly. A sceptical, cynical fool, he thought with disgust.

A fine drizzle was now peppering the road, a gentle spray which cooled his already freezing skin as he attempted to push round the huddled police constables. He felt a strong hand grab his shoulder but shrugged it off, determined not to be stopped under any circumstance. He was her husband, and that gave him the right to see if she was safe.

However, nothing could have made him continue walking when he saw a stretcher being wheeled from the flat, a white sheet already covering the body's face. His stomach instantly lurched, shock and fear churning his insides and freezing him to the bone. A body. The line had gone dead. They didn't know what had happened. Dead or alive. Sam.

His mind continued to spin and he clutched hold of something, anything to steady himself as the world tipped on its axis. A police officer stepped in front of him, demanding his name as he attempted to guide him away. But Dylan was still coherent enough to want to see her, even if she was dead. He pushed back, a grief-stricken roar ripping from his chest as he slammed his full weight into the plain-clothed officer. He could feel the sobs choking him, his breath leaving him, and his heart bleeding inwardly from a wound no one could heal.

"Oh God, Sam…" Dylan breathed as his strength finally gave in, allowing the man to support him as he was taken back towards his car. He could hear the concerned enquiries from other police officers and the uncertain answers they received, but made no attempt to alleviate them of their confusion. He wasn't sure he could even stand at the moment.

The next thing he felt was a burning polystyrene cup being pressed between his violently shaking hands, and he flinched slightly before deciding to take it, not wanting to start an argument that he had no energy to finish. He could feel the intense numbness seeping through him now, and knew that both his mind and body were failing to cope with the reality of the situation. Neither could believe his wife, his Sam was dead, and so they were shutting down to pretend as though it wasn't happening. Sooner or later, he would close his eyes, and he only hoped that wherever she had gone his dreams would take him there also. Because it wasn't sleep that would bring the biggest nightmare of them all – that particular horror would be left until he woke up, and he had no intention of doing that any time soon.

"All right, mate?"

Dread filled him as he realised he was going to have to respond, or risk a barrage of questions about when he had last slept or eaten or if he should go home. He didn't want that conversation right now, so he simply nodded and hoped the paramedic would leave.

No such luck.

"Me and Dix didn't realise you were here or we would have come and got you. She's pretty shaken but I think she just needs someone to comfort her. Do you want to come now or…?" Jeff trailed off as he watched the cup slip from Dylan's hands and fall to the ground, tea splattering everywhere.

There was no room for anymore emotions, and so the previous sickness and light-headedness returned with overwhelming force, sending his mind reeling as it tried to take in what he had just heard. Sam was alive?

"You're not looking too good… Maybe you should wait here-"

Dylan placed his head in his hands for a moment, waiting unusually patiently for the dizziness to fade into the darkness before finally opening his eyes again. It was as though his mind was now detached from his body, letting instinct take over and watching him attempting to stand as an observer might. He had no control over what he was doing anymore – his heart was well and truly making the decisions for him.

"Where?" It took him a moment to realise it was his voice which had spoken the word, so wrought with emotion did it sound.

"We managed to get her into the back of the ambulance, but we might have to use that for… the body."

He nodded, feeling no pity or sadness for the person who had done this – in a way he was actually disappointed they were dead, because it denied him the opportunity to kill them.

"Show me," he said finally, standing slowly and following Jeff through the cluster of police officers still conversing. It irritated him that they were there, almost as though he begrudged them being first on the scene when it should have been him, but he could hardly blame them for that. No, the person he really blamed was himself. He should have known this would happen. He should have been there.

As Jeff side-stepped a police sergeant currently making their way into the flat, the crowd of people suddenly parted and he saw her. It took him a moment to actually realise who she was, mainly because she looked so small inside the empty ambulance, but it was her frailty which astonished him the most. This wasn't his Sam – she wasn't even close.

"I'll leave you two for a minute. She's badly shaken, so… just take it easy," Jeff warned, knowing how brash and insensitive Dr Keogh could be.

Dylan gave him a cold stare and watched him make his way back towards Dixie before moving any closer. She hadn't noticed him yet, something which both relieved and terrified him in equal measure. Sam had always been so alert, so on edge, that even the slightest movement caused her to jump. It seemed odd to see her looking so vacantly into nothingness; shoulders slumped beneath the garishly bright blanket wrapped around her.

"Sam?"

His voice had been barely above a whisper and yet she flinched visibly at the sudden break in silence, her eyes darting towards him before hardening slightly as she met his gaze.

"What happened?" It wasn't the appropriate moment for such a question, and yet he had no idea how else to avoid another deafening silence between them. They had gone hours without speaking on many occasions, and he was desperate to know if she was all right.

Sam turned her head back towards the interior of the ambulance, evidently not about to answer his question, and so he approached cautiously, wondering whether she wanted him there at all. He had imagined, briefly, the reunion they would have when he arrived, before he thought she was dead. She would try not to cry and then stretch out her arms for him, and he would gladly hold her until she finally stopped crying. No words of love would be needed in that moment, though they would say them eventually, because in that brief lapse of their usual hostility to one and other, they would simply let each other in. Instead, they remained at arm's length from each other, barely saying a word. It seemed even in the most life-threatening situations, they still couldn't manage to say or show how they felt.

The silence stretched onwards, and eventually Dylan climbed into the ambulance to sit opposite his wife, hands clasped tightly on his knees to stop them trembling. It embarrassed him now to think how truly terrified he had been of losing her, considering she evidently didn't seem to think there was any need for him to be there at all.

"They're going to need the ambulance so I'll drive you to the ED and we can get you checked over," he finally said, glancing quickly at her expressionless face before returning his gaze to the floor.

"I don't want to."

The first words she had uttered to him, and they were ones of refusal. He would have laughed had it not hurt so much. He knew how badly this was probably affecting her, but still the pain of rejection stung him, no matter how selfish that made him.

"Sam, you can't stay here," he pleaded, leaning towards her slightly in some vain attempt to bring them closer together. Seeing her subtly move backwards only proved that he was nothing to her anymore apart from an inconvenience. He was just a noise in the background, and she was desperately trying to block him out.

"I don't care. I'm not going to hospital," she stated determinedly, a forcefulness to her tone which had been lacking in her previous comment. Already she was returning to her former icy glory, something which Dylan now realised he had been dreading. Perhaps vulnerable Sam hadn't been quite as bad as he had thought.

Dylan sighed and leaned back, rubbing his tired eyes with his fingers. "Jeff and Dixie will be leaving any minute now, and the police are not going to let you back into your flat. Just let me drive you to the ED."

"No."

"Sam!" He hadn't meant to yell, nor had he meant to frighten her, and yet both had occurred without him being able to stop it. The look of pure fear on her face startled him, and he impulsively reached out to take her hand to reassure her, a gesture which she shied away from like a wounded puppy. He felt like a monster.

"I'm sorry… I… I'm sorry."

Dylan watched as she pulled the blanket tighter around her, burrowing her face into the soft fabric and closing her eyes as she breathed in its smell. Perhaps, in another life, another time, he would have gone to sit beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She would have tucked her legs up and shuffled closer to him, her head fitting perfectly beneath his chin. They would have sat for hours like that, him gently rocking her while she drifted off to sleep, and in the morning they would have woken up in each other's arms, just as they were supposed to.

The image struck him hard and Dylan had to turn his face from her, unsure how much emotion was currently etched in every crease of his skin. Outside, the rain was beginning to fall harder on the ground, and he knew instinctively that a storm was coming. He could feel it in the air.

…

It had taken extremely gentle and patient coaxing on Dixie's part, and a strong, supportive arm from Jeff to finally manoeuvre Sam from the ambulance. She looked thin and fragile, Dylan noticed as he walked behind them, trying not to think about the fact that it should have been him doing all of this. It was going to take him a long time to finally accept he had only a limited role in Sam's life now, and that was only on the rare occasions that she even let him have that.

However, her reluctant acceptance to let him drive her to the ED didn't fail to give him hope, no matter how misguided that was. He helped her into the passenger seat, barely touching her as she flinched away from him, and quietly shut the door so as not to scare her further. With a brusque nod to a rather concerned looking Dixie and Jeff, he strode round to the driver's side and hurriedly started the car, knowing the drive was going to be excruciating enough without him making it any longer than need be.

Of course, the unbearable silence was worse than either could have imagined – Dylan had never concentrated so hard on the road ahead before, and as for Sam, she simply shut her eyes to the blurring streets outside in an attempt to stop herself from being sick. It was only as they rounded a particularly nasty bend that she grabbed Dylan's arm and begged him to stop, which he did so immediately.

The freezing air which hit her as she stumbled from the car was more welcoming than she had anticipated, and she breathed in a lungful, already feeling better. Her empty stomach gave a guttural moan and she sighed, rubbing it gently and wincing as her hand touched the fist-size bruise which Henry had given her as a parting gift. Those last few minutes continued to swirl before her eyes, every venomous comment and hateful blow scarring her repeatedly as she replayed it all. She was only damaging herself further by thinking about it, but she couldn't help herself.

"Do you need to sit down?"

Sam heard the worry in her husband's voice and gave a faint smile, wondering when she had last heard him so concerned before, about anyone but especially her. She knew how vile she had been to him considering he had been nothing but courteous and unusually sensitive towards her, but one thought continued to haunt her, and it made all other feelings for him sour in the process.

"I need to walk," she replied, turning to face him finally.

Dylan raised an eyebrow before deciding not to question her. He locked the car without further hesitation where it was parked next to the pavement, and walked round the front of the car to stand a good metre from where she was watching him intently. He was too tired and too battered already to be rebuffed again so soon after last time, and so he walked at a safe distance from her. That didn't mean his eyes weren't trained on her the entire time though, ready and waiting for any sign that she was too tired to continue or felt a sudden pain. It seemed even now he couldn't switch off the part of his brain which continued to believe he was still her husband.

Which was why, when Sam stumbled as they crossed the road, Dylan was by her side in an instant to catch her, his arm looping through hers and supporting her completely. Neither would ever admit it, but they were both glad to finally be a little closer to each other.

…

It was with great reluctance that Dylan handed Sam over to Tom, who was ready and waiting at the doors of the ED to greet them when they arrived. There were hardly any emergencies, and the hospital was relatively quiet as he followed his wife into the cubicle.

"Would you like Dylan to stay?" Tom asked Sam quietly, eyeing her nervous expression and knowing instinctively what that meant.

"Dylan, if you're not too busy, there is a Mr Lawson in CDU who is currently showing some rather unusual symptoms. I know you're expertise in such cases is second to none-"

"I'm staying with Sam," Dylan replied immediately, giving his wife a reassuring smile which Sam tried and failed to return.

"That's very heroic, Dylan, but I need to treat Sam, which means someone else has to take over my other patients," Tom replied, hoping Dr Keogh wouldn't make things any more stressful than they needed to be.

"Then get someone else to do it!"

"Dylan, just go and take a look! I'll shout if I need you."

There was a moment where Tom genuinely thought Dylan was going to hit him, but the tension soon passed and the older doctor reluctantly left in search of this mysterious Mr Lawson, leaving Tom alone with his fragile patient.

Bending down slightly so that he was face-to-face with Sam who was currently sitting on the bed, he carefully placed a hand on top of hers and gave her his most sympathetic smile. He could see how close she was to breaking, and he had no intention of making things any harder for her.

"I need to ask, because it's my job, exactly what happened to you. But I was thinking if we did yes/no answers, that might be easier. Does that sound ok?"

Sam nodded, feeling tears welling her eyes and blinking them back furiously. She couldn't cry, otherwise he would have won, and she couldn't let him win.

"Right. Do you feel pain anywhere at all?"

"Yes," Sam whispered, instinctively placing a hand over the bruise to her abdomen. Tom gently lifted her blood-stained top to see the purple blotches across her stomach and frowned.

"Is it just bruises – no broken bones you know of?"

Sam shook her head vehemently, though she was still unsure about the ominous crack she had heard when Henry's fist had connected with her stomach.

Tom scanned the visible bruises he could see on Sam's arms, noting with concern the rather finger-like appearance of them, as though she had been grabbed tightly. He didn't want to think it, and he certainly didn't want to have to ask, but he knew he would have to if he was going to find out the whole picture.

He sighed and squeezed her hand, readying her for the question he couldn't avoid. "Sam, I need you to tell me honestly. I can see from your bruises that someone evidently attacked you, but the marks on your arms and neck look more like… I need to ask if you were sexually assaulted, Sam?"

She could feel her heart hiccup suddenly in her chest and desperately tried to force down the sob threatening to break free. But looking at Tom's worried expression only showed her how much damage Henry had truly done, and without any warning, a single tear trickled down her cheek, followed by another and then another, until eventually she couldn't prevent them from coming. Sam couldn't hold off any longer, and with Tom's shoulder to rest on, she began to cry for the first time in years, and she wondered if she would ever be able to stop.


	4. Chapter 4

**I had no idea when I started this how invested I would become, but it seems this story had completely taken over my day-to-day thoughts. However, my updates may become a little infrequent over the next 2-3 weeks as my exams are approaching. I will try to continue updating around once a week, but I can't make any promises.**

**Thank you for all the support – your comments mean the world to me and feedback is whole-heartedly encouraged!**

**Please, read and review, but most importantly, enjoy! X**

Unwanted Attentions – Part 4

Zoe Hanna stood in the fading gloom of the hospital car park, a cigarette pinched between her first two fingers, and gazed sombrely towards the elderly couple making their way from the back of the ambulance. Since arriving at nine this morning at Tom's request, Zoe had faced a frustrated Dylan and an uncommonly emotional Sam, not to mention the baffled questions from other staff members as to what had happened. In truth, flu had simply been an excuse to finally take a proper day off to relax, but it seemed today was just not the day for TLC. Instead, she had got herself a strong coffee and sat with Sam in her cubicle for over an hour, listening intently to her clinical analysis of the events which had occurred in the early hours of the morning, stunned into silence by how detached Sam had seemed from everything that had been done to her.

The injuries were mainly minor – one queried fracture and extensive bruising, but nothing complex or life-threatening. It was the emotional trauma Zoe was most concerned about, especially when Sam seemed to be playing down the whole affair as though it was nothing. But even with such a hard, brittle exterior, Zoe could see behind the army medic's mask, and knew instinctively that she was only just holding herself together. One wrong move and she would fall to pieces completely, something which Dr Hanna had never imagined possible.

Dylan, of course, had been worse than useless. She knew he was upset and angry at himself, and just wanted to make sure Sam was all right, but after everything that had already happened, Zoe could completely understand why Sam didn't want to see her husband at the present moment.

"I'll come and find you when she's ready – I can't do much more than that," she had told him, trying to remain confident and in-control when she was finding it difficult to cope herself. Of all the people this could have happened to, it seemed so much worse knowing it had been Sam; she was brave and independent and more masculine in some ways than half the men in the department, so to think that she had been placed in such a horrific situation made her feel physically sick.

"This is ridiculous. She's not in the right frame of mind to be making these kinds of decisions, especially when she is at her most vulnerable. She needs round the clock care, and instead you're telling me we should do nothing," Dylan had replied shortly, refusing to believe that anyone knew his wife better than he did.

Zoe had shaken her head, expecting his stubbornness and remaining unperturbed. Both she and Sam were perhaps the only two in the ED, or in fact the world, who could tolerate Dylan's behaviour without being riled.

"I'm not saying we do nothing. I know exactly what's happened to her – I probably know a damn sight more than you do, actually. And I know the one thing she needs right now is to rest and sleep."

"I see. So we're following that good old medical rule that 'everything will be all right in the morning', are we?"

"You know, Dylan, sometimes I wonder how you made it through 7 years at medical school without someone picking up on your total lack of compassion and sensitivity. Being a doctor is more than just diagnosing the patient, and as a doctor and a husband, I would have expected you of all people to show Sam some support!"

He had looked away from her at that point, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets in that infuriatingly stubborn way. He didn't have an answer, mainly because he knew she was partly right. But he couldn't switch off that clinical side to him that simply wished to cure. And with Sam, that intense urge to make her better was only more acute.

"I want to know when I am allowed to go in and see her," he had said finally, giving her a stern stare which she barely even blinked at. It irritated him that she was so unfazed by his cold attitude towards her, and everyone for that matter, but he didn't let his bafflement show.

Zoe had watched him march back into the ED before pulling the cigarette packet from her jacket pocket, and had failed to return indoors since. She knew Sam was in the very capable hands of the extremely diligent Dr Kent, and was more than happy to take a break from having to see Sam's pained expression every time someone entered the room. She knew Dr Nicholls wasn't a people person, much like her estranged husband, and this trauma had only increased her reclusiveness. Zoe had already sensed Sam pulling away from everyone, and she was worried that eventually, Sam wouldn't want to talk to anyone about what had happened. She could only hope that Sam told Dylan what had really happened to her, and that Dylan would be caring enough as to comfort her rather than analyse her.

…

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, her bare legs dangling over the sides looking scarily pale under the harsh, hospital lights. Her eyes were burning from exhaustion, and every muscle in her body ached like she had never known before. It was taking everything she had not to fall asleep, but she couldn't allow herself to close her eyes. She knew from experience exactly what terrors awaited her in her dreams, and she was sure that Henry would be there, lurking in the shadows of her mind, as soon as she drifted off to sleep.

Instead, she attempted to shuffle off the bed in order to retrieve her clothes from the chair, intending to discharge herself. She had no idea where she was going to go, but she couldn't stay here, not with everyone milling around, waiting for an explanation. She couldn't deal with the fixed stares, the questions, the whispering behind her back. Even thinking about it made her breath quicken, and she forced herself to remain calm as she slowly stretched over to reach her bloodied jumper.

She shuddered, remembering the blood which had flooded from Henry's gaping wound, spurting across her clothes and skin as she stumbled backwards, gasping. Sam blinked, shaking her head to remove the image from her brain, and fumbled with her hospital gown. Her bruised limbs were just another reminder of what he had inflicted upon her, and she quickly pulled on her clothes, wincing with every movement. Her fingers were shaking as she clutched the railings and slipped off the bed, masking an audible groan with her hand at the sudden jump.

Gingerly pulling back the curtain, Sam cursed when she saw Dylan sitting in the reception area, his fingers drumming the sides of his thighs impatiently as he stared at the clock. If she made any attempt to leave, he would stop her.

"Damn," she whispered, pulling the curtain closed again and rubbing her forehead. She had to get out of here, but Dylan would never allow it. She was stuck.

Pulling her mobile from her bag, Sam quickly scrolled through her contacts list and found the name she wanted. Dialling hurriedly, she silently prayed he would answer, knowing she was the only one who could get Dylan to back down.

…

"Don't you think it would be easier-?"

"No, I don't. He can't know. He just can't," Sam interjected, watching as Zoe deliberated with herself. In the end, however, she shook her head, a sign Sam had been dreading.

"I know what he's like, and I understand why you don't want him to know, but I can't discharge you without telling him. It wouldn't be fair."

Sam gave a frustrated yell before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. "This isn't _your _decision to make. It's my life, and I want to go home."

"And how are you going to do that? Your flat isn't exactly accessible at the moment," Zoe replied, coming to sit beside her.

Putting her head in her hands, Sam let her entire body slump forwards in an act of resignation. She had lost the battle, and there was no point fighting it. She was too tired to fight.

"If I tell him, he will never forgive himself. I can't live with seeing the guilt on his face every time we see each other. It would destroy us both," Sam finally said, imagining Dylan's reaction and being unable to. He was so hard to reach, so hard to predict, that any scenario she envisaged stopped abruptly when she tried to imagine what he would say or do.

Zoe gently squeezed Sam's shoulder before standing up. "I can't tell you what to do, and you know Dylan better than anyone. But right now, he's the only family you've got, and you would be mad to turn him away. Especially now."

With that, Zoe pulled back the curtain and beckoned Dylan over, knowing the couple needed some time alone. She had said her piece, and now there was nothing more she could do for them. Either of them.

Dylan entered the cubicle just as Zoe left, but refrained from coming to sit beside his wife, instead choosing to adopt a rather awkward stance by the curtain. Sam waited for him to say something, but it became apparent after some moments that he wasn't going to be the first to start the conversation.

"Zoe doesn't think I'll be able to go back to my flat today."

Dylan nodded, putting his hands on his hips as he so often did. "No, the police will most likely be there for a while. But…um…I'm sure we can put you up…somewhere."

"Staying in the on-call room for the entire day doesn't appeal funnily enough, but thanks for the offer," she replied sarcastically, daring to look at his rather annoyed expression before turning her back on him again.

"_Funnily enough_, I didn't mean 'we' as in the hospital. Dervla and I can make room for you – I've already cleared it with Mr Jordan, and he says you can be discharged now as long as you come home… with me," Dylan retorted, suddenly feeling ridiculously self-conscious and uncomfortable. Her rejection was inevitable, and he prepared himself mentally and emotionally for the icy remark about to come his way.

Sam ignored the pang in her heart begging her to say yes, knowing that she couldn't allow herself to get any closer to him than she already had. She could already feel her carefully constructed walls beginning to crack and crumble, and she had to maintain her strong and independent nature. It was the only way of convincing herself she was coping.

"I can't, Dylan…"

For Sam, it was a surprisingly gentle let-down compared to previous refusals, and Dylan put it down to the shock she must still be suffering from. It was far easier than imagining she had warmed to him in any way.

"Right. I'll make a booking somewhere and call a taxi – I'm assuming you won't want me driving you either." It had never meant to sound so bitter, especially when he had always managed to hide his hurt so easily, but the disappointment of being dismissed again was just another battle scar to add to his collection.

Sam bit down on her bottom lip to stop the tears from escaping, and quickly shook her head. Her throat began to close and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping against all hope that Dylan would realise what had happened and wrap his arms around her.

Dylan waited for her to respond, and when she didn't, he turned on his heel and strode from the cubicle, not wanting to be humiliated further. If she wanted to deal with this on her own, then who was he to interfere?

"Noel, I need you to give me a list of hotels in Holby. Preferably now," Dylan stated as he leaned against the reception desk.

"Actually Dylan, I'm a bit busy at the moment…"

"Like I said, preferably now," he replied without hesitation, watching as the receptionist hesitated for a moment before deciding to do as he had been instructed.

He didn't dare turn round while he waited, knowing how weak and pitiful that would make him look if Sam caught him staring at her. He had made a fool of himself already today, and he wasn't about to do so again. Samantha Nicholls was not his responsibility anymore, and the sooner he accepted that, the better.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Exams have been crazy and then I was away in Romania working with Blythswood, so I have had no time for writing these past few months. I know most of you have probably given up on thinking I'm going to update, but hopefully, if no other crisis strikes, chapters will be put up much faster than this one. So here is Chapter 5 - any medical knowledge incorporated into this story has been researched in advance, but I am not part of the medical profession, so I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies. **

**Thank you for all the reviews and please enjoy!**

Unwanted Attentions – Part 5

"This is Imogen Grainger – 89 years old, fell down a flight of stairs. BP currently 120/70, Resps 14, Sats of 98% and she is slightly tachy at 100. This is her son, Malcolm," Dixie reeled off as she pushed the trolley through the emergency doors, a middle-aged man following quickly behind her.

Dylan pulled the stethoscope from round his neck and quickly made his way towards his patient, surveying the damage hurriedly before realising it was most likely a simple fractured fibula.

"Right, let's give her another ten of morphine and I want an X-ray for that leg," he demanded, gesturing to the slightly twisted left knee before stepping backwards to allow Lloyd room to move past him.

It was almost seven in the evening, and by rights he should have gone home long ago, but he couldn't face it. Not when he should have been going home with his wife, his arm around her protectively, her body pulled tightly against his for comfort. Every detail was burnt into his mind and he couldn't shake the agonising sense of absence every time he thought about it. Sam _was_ his responsibility, past tense, and she had made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that his role as provider and carer was no longer needed. But he was still her husband, by law if by nothing else, and it was that fact, as well as his frantically beating heart, which confirmed just how much he still cared for her.

"Is she going to be OK?"

Dylan's head snapped up as he heard the rather shaky voice, and sighed. Relatives were a nuisance in resus, and he had no intention of treating his patient with this idiot standing over him.

"Nothing to worry about – your mother seems to have fractured her leg but we're going to send her for an X-Ray to make sure. After that it's a simple case of putting a cast on it and making sure she gets plenty of rest," he said calmly, hiding his irritation behind an unusually calm mask. Perhaps this emotionally charged day had actually made him a more sensitive man. Dylan almost snorted at the possibility.

"She should never have been using the stairs – we bought her a stair lift last year so she wouldn't have to, but she's so bloody stubborn," Malcolm replied, his eyes fixed on the elderly woman currently mumbling quietly on the hospital bed.

"All women are," Dylan said under his breath, moving past the man to signal for Big Mac to come and wheel the woman to X-Ray.

As Big Mac manoeuvred the trolley out of the double doors, Dylan glanced quickly at the middle-aged man currently looking rather dazed by his side. He knew he should say something comforting to put his mind at ease, but nothing sprung to mind except facts and figures on elderly patients, all of which seemed rather bleak in the circumstances.

"There's a... um… shop in reception. The tea and coffee are horrible, but it's better than nothing," he eventually remarked, and Malcolm smiled weakly before leaving Dylan alone in resus, now with nothing left to distract him from the one thought he had been trying to avoid all night – Sam.

…

It was dark. The room was unfamiliar. She wasn't at home and Dylan wasn't here. For one split second, Sam thought she was back there. She had wrestled with her dreams, or rather nightmares, since she had finally fallen asleep at two in the morning, and even the thought of waking up to find she was still _in _the nightmare was terrifying. But when she switched on the light, he wasn't there. No one was there. Just an empty hotel room.

She breathed out slowly, wincing as her abdomen contracted, and lay back on the plush mattress. She thought being alone would mean she could have some time to compose herself, get her head straight. But so far all she had done was go over everything that had happened, specifically all the stuff she had told no one else.

Zoe and Tom and Dylan knew the bare minimum, which is exactly how she had planned it, but just once she wanted someone to know everything about her; about what had been done to her. Instead everyone expected her to bottle it all up and never talk about it again, and that's exactly what she would do, even if it wasn't what she needed right now.

Checking her mobile, she couldn't help but feel the sharp sting of rejection seeing that there had been no phone call from her husband. There had been two from Zoe however, and a message from Tom:

**You know where I am if you need to talk. T x**

She smiled and sent a quick thank you back, knowing she would never be able to open up to the charming, handsome young doctor, no matter how much pain she was in. Pushing her mobile away, not wanting to be reminded that her husband hadn't bothered to call her, Sam attempted to shuffle to the edge of the bed. She braced herself for the shock of seeing her body in the harsh daylight, and slipped out from under the covers. Her upper thighs were a mess of black and blue bruises, and her stomach and arms didn't fare much better either. There were purple rings around her wrists where he had gripped her tightly against the wall, and she could feel the ache of bruises on the front of her neck where he had near strangled her. Even now, even though he was dead, she still wasn't rid of him. He was everywhere. All around her. All over her.

She forced a shudder back down and pushed herself up, padding slowly and carefully across to the ensuite. Every part of her throbbed with pain, but she ignored it and pulled the bobble from her hair, noticing hollowly the tangled mess of hair and blood which was matted all the way down her back. But not even her cold, clinical nature could prevent her from gasping when she turned to see her reflection in the mirror.

She looked like a punching bag, like a beaten woman. And worse than that, worse even than the bruises and the scars and the defence wounds to her arms, was the look in her eyes, only distinguishable to her. It was the look of fear, and she had never truly seen it in herself before, not since her time in the army. Her Major had once told her that once you became a soldier, nothing off the battlefield could scare you in quite the same way as it had before. But Henry had defied that promise. He had worked his way inside her head and was now twisting ever certainty she had had about herself, her friends, her work, her life…

Sam grabbed the edge of the freezing sink and attempted to breathe slowly but to no avail. She felt sick, perhaps because she hadn't eaten in hours, or perhaps because she could now see Henry's face swimming before her eyes. Was this what it felt like to go insane?

"Oh God…" was all she managed to get out before her legs gave way and she collapsed to the tiled floor, curling up into a ball as her body shook with the tears. The ripped from her throat, sounding almost like agonising screams, and even though every muscle ached from crying so hard, she couldn't stop. She had lost all control over her mind and her body, and so she gave up, admitting defeat to the man who had caused all this pain in the first place.

He had won, and she knew it.

…

Dylan watched as the young doctor pulled out his mobile and smiled sadly as he read something on the scream. Jealousy tore through him like wildfire and he marched across to where Tom was standing, with no idea of what he was going to do or say.

"Oh- Dylan…"

"Was that Sam?" Dylan asked curtly, hands on hips and his eyes never wavering from Tom's anxious face.

"She was just letting me know she was ok…"

"And were you planning on telling anyone else this?"

Tom gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his forehead. "Look, Dylan-"

"No, Dr. Kent, we all have a responsibility towards Sam – we are all colleagues and friends – and for you to deliberately withhold-"

"I was not withholding anything!" Tom snapped. "I had only just read the message, Dylan, and considering I'm the one who texted her, I don't think you have any right to take the moral high ground! She is my friend, Dylan, and I will help and comfort her if I can."

Dylan watched him storm off without another word, stunned into silence. He hadn't spoken to Sam because he knew he had no right to. He would only be rejected, just as he was before, and he couldn't take it. He couldn't take the unanswered phone calls, the ignored texts. He had done it so often now that another might tip him over the edge, and he was already perilously close as it was.

But even so, he found his hand digging his mobile from his pocket and finding her name in his very short contacts list. His hand shook momentarily as his finger found the call button, and just as he was about to press, the automatic doors slid open, and his wife entered, looking almost as though nothing had ever happened.

Almost.


End file.
